


My Dads Built A Barricade

by BarricadeButterfly



Series: My Enjoltaire One Shots [10]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Enjolras and Grantaire are dads, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gay Male Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarricadeButterfly/pseuds/BarricadeButterfly
Summary: People have commented on my other works saying they would like to read Enj and R as dads so I thought I'd put together a little collection of snippets of family life for the boys and their 2 kids, who are my OCs. Background info you need to know in notes at start.Hope you enjoy the family feels and if so, please leave kudos and comments!
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: My Enjoltaire One Shots [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927930
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. This Is Not A Pillow Fort

**Author's Note:**

> Things to know:
> 
> * Enjolras and Grantaire are an established married couple who have two adopted children.
> 
> *The two children are a daughter named Melodie and a son named Julien. There is 7 years difference in their ages, Melodie is the elder of the two.
> 
> *Enjolras and Grantaire are both teachers who met at teacher training college when they were getting their degrees and have been together ever since. Enj works as a history and sociology teacher at the local secondary school and R is a music teacher who does evening classes and workshops for students of all ages, so that he could be at home with the kids during the day when they were little (Yeah, I gave this way too much thought!)
> 
> *Each chapter I will add to this will be like an individual snapshot of their lives together as this family, but won't necessarily run in chronological order.
> 
> *If there's any specific idea or scenario you'd like to read with the boys in this situation, please leave a comment letting me know and I will do my best to write and include it!
> 
> *I'm hoping to let this run and run and just add to it over time as I get new ideas so don't be put off by it being marked as incomplete, just hit subscribe!

_***in which Melodie is 14 and Julien is 7. ***_

The bedroom door is shut and there’s a muffled sound of music coming from the other side of it. Enjolras uses the hand that isn’t carrying a full mug of hot tea to tap on the door with his knuckles, loud enough to warrant a hoarse call of admittance a moment later, and he opens the door and pokes his head round with a sad smile.

“Can I come in?”

The girl is sat up in her bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, an open magazine resting on her knees. The wild auburn curls that usually bounce around her face have been scraped back into a messy ponytail which makes her pale, freckled face appear even more gaunt and when she looks up, her eyelids are heavy and her nose is redder than her hair.

“Uhh,” she grunts which Enjolras takes for a yes and carries her tea over, perching himself on the edge of the bed.

“Honey, is it a good idea to be listening to music if your head is aching?” It’s One Direction which means she’s feeling particularly susceptible to a bout of maudlin teenage angst. He takes the box of paracetamol from his pocket and pops two out of the blister pack into her outstretched hand.

Melodie rolls her eyes as she grabs the bottle of water from her bedside table and sends the tablets down with a big gulp of it. “It’s not loud Papa. Besides it’s better than listening to Jules’ noise. You know he only has one volume.”

Enjolras laughs softly. Sometimes he forgets that his daughter is only fourteen years old, when in comparison to his seven year old son, she can seem so very mature. He wonders if it has something to do with the fact that they weren’t blessed with her until she was nearly three, whereas Julien was theirs from a new-born baby. Missing out on three years of Melodie’s life is something that will always be a cross to bear for himself and Grantaire so he tries not to dwell on it too much.

“It’s only because he was getting ready for the party, you know he gets louder when he’s excited about something. Anyway, he and Dad left over an hour ago now.”

“They’ve already gone? What time is it?” Melodie asks as she glances over at the pink alarm clock that is partially blocked from her view by the stacks of tissues.

“Nearly eleven,” Enjolras says. “Your Dad did come to say goodbye but you were asleep and he didn’t want to wake you.”

Melodie pouts a little. Enjolras loves how she has such a special bond with Grantaire, despite being ever so slightly envious occasionally. He shares a closeness with her too but it’s never quite been the same. Grantaire has always been the parent of choice and the one she goes to first when she needs help or affection. He supposes it is because they are so alike. Grantaire can watch endless YouTube videos of make-up tutorials with her and not mind a jot. Enjolras is secretly glad of that, to be fair.

“They won’t be back for a few hours will they?” Melodie asks.

“Nope. House to ourselves for most of the day so if you want to get some rest, it’s a good chance while it’s quiet. I’ll wake you up with some lunch in a couple of hours if you like. Maybe some soup?”

“Urgh, soup,” she says with a grimace. “Why do you have to eat soup when you’re sick?”

“You don’t _have_ to. It’s just easy to eat when you’ve got a sore throat and a cold.”

“So is ice cream,” she says and there’s a mischievous sparkle in her eye that, obvious as it is, Enjolras is still pleased to see because it means she’s starting to feel better.

“We’ll see,” he says in a voice which gives nothing away. He’s practised that one plenty of times over the years.

“Can we have some now? Has Jules left any of that cookie dough one? We could watch a film and share it. I wanna veg out.”

Enjolras sighs, raises a sceptical brow at the sudden grin of innocent sweetness that has spread on her face, and shakes his head as he ponders it.

“Pleeeease papa?”

He laughs as he gets up and picks up the box of tissues. “Bring your tea then.”

*

Melodie drags her duvet out with her, wrapped around her shoulders so that as she plods down the stairs, it trails behind her like an elaborate cloak. By the time she has reached the lounge and got herself comfortable on one end of the sofa, Enjolras has got himself a coffee from the machine in the kitchen and the requested tub of ice-cream which he holds out to her with a grin.

“You comfy enough there Mel?”

One arm extends from the cocoon to take the tub and she gazes up at him with a deadpan expression. “I’m sick of feeling so ill papa.”

“I know honey. You’ve really had it bad with this cold. It’s getting better though. You just need to keep resting and stay warm. And keep your mind off it in the mean time. On the subject of which-” he says, walking over to the cabinet and running a finger along the spines of the dvds before he selects one and then another and turns them both round for his daughter’s inspection. “Beauty and the Beast or Alice In Wonderland?”

“You wanna watch Disney with me?”

“Don’t underestimate your papa, I know your go to movies for when you’re feeling rough. So which is it?”

She smiles fondly. “Alice, please. Thanks papa.”

He switches on the television, loads the dvd and gets himself comfy on the other end of the sofa with his coffee in his hands and his feet up on the table, as Melodie prizes open the lid of the ice cream and proceeds to forget her earlier idea about sharing it. It’s barely thirty minutes into the film, however, when she has slumped back against the cushions, her legs stretched out to rest her feet on Enjolras’ lap, the almost empty tub now warm and cuddled up under one arm and she is snoring softly. Her heavy eyelids are closed, her mouth slightly open as she breathes loudly and there is a little trail of ice cream drool that has dried on her chin. Enjolras smiles to himself when he sees how comfortable she looks, and he moves in slow quiet movements to gently lift her feet off his legs so he can get up, take the tub away and tuck the duvet up around her before he switches the film off and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

*

With Grantaire out with their son and Melodie asleep on the sofa, the house is unusually quiet for a Saturday so Enjolras decides to use the time wisely and get a head start on next week’s lesson planning. His year twelve Sociology class are pretty self-sufficient with their current study and needing little guidance at the moment which is a blessing since he agreed to take on the year 10 History as well this year. Although his original teaching degree was in this exact subject, he knows himself that he has become rusty over the years since he moved to Sociology and it’s been more challenging than he would like to admit. He is on yet another coffee but has switched to decaff now and is rubbing his eyes wearily in front of the computer screen when he hears a stifled groan from the sofa.

“Hey honey, how are you feeling?”

Melodie pushes herself up to a sitting position and blinks the sleep from her eyes as Enjolras snaps his laptop shut and makes his way over to check on her. There is a rule in the house that when he is working at his laptop he can’t be disturbed for anything other than an emergency and he doesn’t want his daughter to think that now is one of those times. Work can wait a little longer.

“Better,” she says and takes a long, hard sniff through her nose. “I can breathe properly again. Oh that’s such a relief. Was I snoring?”

“No, not that I heard,” he lies. “Do you want me to put the film back on? You didn’t get to see much of it.”

“Nah, its OK. I know it backwards anyway. I need to get up and do some homework.”

Enjolras stares at her in disbelief. “Mel, I say this as your father and not as a teacher; you really don’t need to do homework on a Saturday afternoon when you’re feeling ill.”

“But I wanna get this History assignment done while it’s quiet. It’s due on Monday,” she says with determination he knows is going to be difficult to argue with and he wants to hug her because sometimes she reminds him so much of himself it makes his heart swell. “It’s taking ages and making my brain explode.”

“I sincerely hope not,” he laughs. “It’s the report on the French Revolution isn’t it? Do you want some help?”

Melodie’s mouth turns down at the corner and she wrinkles her nose. “Mr Adams said I wasn’t allowed to ask you.”

Enjolras scoffs and rolls his eyes. “My Adams is an idiot, but you didn’t hear that from me. Come on, I can help you a bit and it’ll still be your words and your work. It’s not cheating to get some help from your papa; it’s just a fortuitous turn of events that he happens to be a History teacher,” he says with a wink and she laughs.

“I just can’t _see_ it in my head. The only pictures he’s given us are all these weird black and white drawings that don’t make any sense. I can’t make it real.”

He nods knowingly, aware of how Melodie has always been a visual learner, and chews his bottom lip as an idea starts to form in his head.

“Oh god, what are you planning? You know what Dad says when you get that look on your face?” she notes and when he looks puzzled, goes on to explain in a perfect impression of her other father. “ _Shits about to get real._ ”

“Oh does he now? Well I’ll be having words with your dad,” Enjolras says and laughs when she giggles in response. “But right now, we’re going to learn about the French Revolution and we’re gonna make it fun so Mr Adams can take that up with me if he doesn’t like it.”

Melodie leans forward to loop her arms around Enjolras’ neck in a brief, tight hug. “Thanks Papa. I’ll go get my books.”

But when she gets to her feet and starts gathering up her duvet, he says “Don’t worry about your books and leave that here too. We can use it.”

“What for?”

He taps the side of his nose secretively. “Ah, you’ll see.”

*

Grantaire pulls the car up on the driveway and turns off the ignition, glancing over his shoulder at his son in the back seat who is still sat with his arms folded and pouting with as much barely concealed rage as he had when they set off on the journey twenty minutes ago. Julien still hasn’t perfected the art of having a temper tantrum that comes off as anything other than adorable and Grantaire wants to laugh but he won’t.

“You do realise that if the wind changes you will be stuck with that scowl on your face forever?”

The young boy huffs in exaggeration. “Urgh, Dad, that makes _NO_ sense at all.” Yet his expression still softens somewhat as he unclicks his seat belt and gets out of the car.

Grantaire puts an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, come on mate, I told you it’s not realistic to expect to have a sleepover at someone’s house on the day of their birthday party. I think his poor parents have got enough to deal with tonight cleaning up the mess you lot made, don’t you?”

“It wasn’t _ME_ who spilled that jelly! And we were gonna stay up and get his lego Enterprise built tonight. What if he does it without me now?”

“Then you can always take it apart and build it again. That’s the magic of lego,” says Grantaire, purposely missing the point. “And anyway, I’m sure he won’t. He’s got enough other new toys to play with tonight. Where’s your party bag?”

Julien looks panicked for a moment before he spins back towards the car. “Oh! I left it on the seat.”

“What have you got in there?” Grantaire asks when the boy retrieves the small plastic bag that is bulging at the seams.

“His mum gave me an extra slice of cake for Mel.”

“There’s more than two slices of cake in there,” Grantaire says, raising one brow suspiciously and making his son laugh.

“Yeah, she gave me an extra one too,” he confesses with equal amounts of guilt and pride. “Best friend privvages.”

“ _Privileges._ And I’d say so.”

On the short walk up the path to the front door, an unmistakable sound of a high-pitched squeal from inside the house draws the attention of both father and son who exchange a look of confusion.

“Was that Mel?” Julien asks.

“Well if it is, she’s obviously feeling better,” says Grantaire as they reach the door and let themselves in.

Even from the hallway, they can hear the sound of laughter coming from the lounge, both Melodie’s giggle and Enjolras’ lower toned voice that raises a frequency or so when he’s especially happy and Grantaire is particularly relieved to hear it on this occasion. He knows that his husband panics when he has to be the main caregiver to either of their children because he continuously doubts his ability, no matter how vehemently Grantaire tries to convince him otherwise. When the child in question is also ill, he is even less confident and though Grantaire would never admit it, he felt a little apprehensive himself about leaving them both earlier. He checks himself now for being too overprotective of each member of his beloved family, though in reality he can’t conceive of ever not being.

 _“NO FAIR, YOU HIT ME WHILE I WAS RELOADING! THAT DOESN’T COUNT!”_ Melodie’s voice rings out through the closed lounge door as Grantaire and Julien head over to investigate.

“Hey, I’m just making it authentic. If that was a real musket, it’d take you forty-five seconds to reload, remember?” Enjolras laughs and when the door opens, his head pops up from behind the sofa at the sound of it and he has just enough time to make eye contact with Grantaire before he ducks down out of sight again, only just missing being hit by the foam dart that comes hurtling across the room.

“Nerf guns!” Julien announces excitedly, his eyes lighting up. “Lemme play!”

At this, Melodie jumps out from behind the wall of sofa cushions held precariously in place by her duvet on the other side of the room, grabs her little brother by the wrist and drags him back with her. “Quick! We need to take cover before they load the canons!”

Grantaire stands in the doorway, shaking his head and laughing as he looks from one fortress to the other, behind which his family members are now all hiding out of sight. “You two have had a productive day then, I see. Pillow forts?”

Enjolras’ head bobs up once more from the back of the sofa to throw a wink at his husband and on the other side of the room, Melodie does the same and calls “It’s not a pillow fort Dad, it’s a barricade, and if you stand there you’re gonna get shot.”

Grantaire opens his mouth to reply but she has already disappeared from sight again and is apparently now involved in a deeply serious discussion about attack techniques with her younger brother. He laughs under his breath as he instinctively ducks down and scurries over to the sofa to join his husband.

“Papa did good then?”

Enjolras is on his knees and when Grantaire squats down beside him, he leans forward and wraps one hand around the back of his husband’s neck, nuzzling his face closer for a moment. “Told you that you didn’t need to worry about us,” he whispers.

“I dunno. I mean, I wasn’t exactly expecting to come home to a war zone,” he teases and presses a quick kiss to Enjolras’ smile.

“It’s an interactive history lesson,” says Enjolras with a wink. “And I think I’m winning this one.”


	2. Breakfast Finery

_*** in which Melodie is 14 and Julien is 7.... again.... (I really am intending to add some chapters with them being different ages!) ***_

“You’re still doing it wrong Jules. How many times do I have to tell you?”

The young boy exhales such an exaggerated huff that the wave of blonde hair flopping down over one eye flutters upwards, giving him a better view of his shoddy work. “I’m mixing it just like you said!”

Melodie grabs a tea towel from the kitchen worktop, wipes her hands vigorously with it and then plunges them straight into the mixing bowl, where she begins scraping the sticky mixture from his cloggy fingers. “You’ve gotta get it to resemble breadcrumbs. Look at all these big lumps of butter! Like this,” she instructs and starts rubbing handfuls of the dough through her fingers.

Julien pulls a face as he retracts his sticky hands from the bowl and starts nibbling at the sugary sweet paste stuck between his fingers. “I don’t get why we need to make biscuits anyway. I thought we were gonna do a proper breakfast. Like a fry up with sausages and bacon… and all that stuff. You don’t have biscuits for breakfast.”

“Oh my god, you’re so unrefined sometimes! They’re _breakfast biscuits_. And you serve them warm with fresh yoghurt and fruit. Plus you know how much Dad likes shortbread and I got Papa’s favourite yoghurt. That weird cherry bio-thingy he likes. Trust me, they’re gonna love it.”

“Still think bacon would be better,” Julien mumbles as he leans back against the cupboard and continues nibbling away at his sticky fingers.

Melodie sighs dramatically. “That’s only because _YOU_ want some. It’s not _YOUR_ anniversary though is it?”

“Eww! No way,” he exclaims in disgust. “I already told Caitlin that I’m not gonna marry her. Miss Rogers had to call her mum cuz she was crying in the cloakroom all through lunch.”

There is a slightly pained smirk on his big sister’s face as she finishes moulding the dough and lifts it out of the bowl, turning to place it down on the worktop just as she realises her mistake. “Ahh, nuts. Jules, grab that bag of flour from over there and sprinkle some on the top here for me. Not too much.”

He does his best, unintentionally adding even more mess to the kitchen floor in the process, and she places the dough centrally in the middle of the pool of flour on the worktop, frowning as she stands back to observe it. “The book says we’re supposed to rest it in the fridge for a while before we roll it but we haven’t got time for that… Do you think it’ll matter?”

“How should I know? Can I lick the bowl?”

“In a minute. I need you to help me with this first. Wash your hands and get me that silver baking tray from the cupboard.”

He huffs again. “You wouldn’t be bossing me around like this if Papa and Dad could hear you. You know they would tell you off for being mean to me.”

“Jules, I’m not being mean to you,” says Melodie and fake smiles at him because she’s quickly running out of patience. “I just want them to have a nice anniversary breakfast. Don’t you?”

“Ok, ok,” he says with a scowl and trots off to retrieve the baking tray with his still dough-coated hands.

*

The sound of clattering from downstairs in the kitchen stirs Enjolras awake and he blinks his tired eyes open and squints against the sunlight, extra bright this morning as it streams through the closed curtains. Sucking in a deep breath, he turns his back on it to find Grantaire already awake and sat up in bed with a book in his hands, and Enjolras wraps an arm around his waist and leans his head on his husband’s stomach as he releases the breath in a long sigh upon Grantaire’s skin.

“We need some better curtains,” he mutters, and closes his eyes.

“You’ve been saying that for a year and we still haven’t bought any,” Grantaire says with a smile as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’ head. “Happy anniversary by the way.”

This alerts Enjolras into a more awakened state of consciousness and as he turns his head to look up at the smiling face of his husband, he takes the book out of his hands. “So it is. Now come here and kiss me properly, my beautiful man.”

“I wouldn’t get any ideas. That noise you can hear downstairs is the kids,” Grantaire laughs as he tilts Enjolras’ chin up and kisses his mouth.

Almost directly on cue, another loud clatter echoes up the stairs, followed by the indisputable sound of Melodie groaning in frustration.

“What are they doing down there?”

“Making us breakfast, so I believe. But act surprised.”

“Is that why Mel told us we weren’t allowed to look in that bag at the back of the fridge? Gotta say, I’m a bit relieved. I thought she was doing another experiment with compost.”

Grantaire laughs softly. “God help us if it does end up as compost!”

It isn’t so much the thought of having to eat inedible food that is concerning but more the thought of Melodie’s disappointment and self-judgement if she doesn’t execute the idea to its full potential. In that way, she reminds Grantaire so much of his husband, yet Enjolras, as is often the case, can never see it.

Enjolras is quiet as he shuffles up further in bed and sits forward. After a moment, he looks back over his shoulder at Grantaire. “Are they ok do you think? Should one of us… I don’t know… offer to help?”

“Babe, I think that defeats the object of making us a surprise breakfast in bed. They’re fine, don’t panic. I’ve been secretly listening for the last hour.”

Enjolras sighs and feels guilty for being asleep. Shouldn’t he have better instincts too and have the same telepathic-type connection that Grantaire seems to be so easily blessed with when it comes to their children? He will never forget that it was always Grantaire who awoke first for the night-time feeds when Julien was a baby. It didn’t absolve him of his guilt that he would often then be the one who would feed and settle him again; by that point Enjolras was already beating himself up for not being as alert as he felt like he should have been.

“You should have woken me up,” he mutters and Grantaire leans forward to wrap his arms around his husband from behind, resting his chin on Enjolras’ shoulder and squeezing him tightly.

“And what time did you stop working and come to bed last night? Or should I say this morning?”

“That’s beside the point.”

Grantaire snuggles against the other man’s back and kisses his shoulder blade. “Enj, you work hard and you’re allowed a lay in on a Sunday. And before you say it, I know I do too, but I don’t have to juggle two year groups of teenagers as well as our two monsters when I get home. So cut yourself some slack, yeah?”

Enjolras allows himself to be drawn backwards to the pillows and is just turning in Grantaire’s arms to get himself in a more comfortable position when an almighty crash echoes from the kitchen, making them both freeze in place for the briefest moment before Melodie’s voice breaks the silence and prompts quick action.

_“JULES, YOU IIIIIIIIDIOT!”_

Grantaire can’t help the laugh as he shakes his head and sighs.

“I got it,” says Enjolras with a grin, climbing out of bed.

It is barely ten minutes later when he returns and Grantaire is still in the same position, sat up in bed, the open book back in his hands but his eyes on his husband as he reappears, laughing quietly as he closes the door behind him.

“You didn’t like that frosted glass bowl that your Aunt got us last Christmas did you?” Enjolras asks with a very obvious grimace as he climbs back onto the bed.

“God no, it was hideous.”

“That’s what I thought. And in that case, Jules has just done you a favour.”

Grantaire makes a pained expression. “Uh-oh. Is there a huge mess to clean up?”

“No, it was empty, thank god. Split almost in two clean pieces right down the middle. What sort of dodgy glass does that?”

“Lucky for us it did,” says Grantaire with a laugh. “Are they both ok?”

“They’re fine. Mel was more bothered about ruining the surprise but I made an obvious display of covering my eyes and just looking at the floor while I swept it up, along with about a ton of flour. You don’t wanna see the state of the kitchen right now.”

“I thought you weren’t looking?” Grantaire says with a smirk and Enjolras rolls his eyes as he leans back against the headrest and holds out his arm for his husband to snuggle into.

They are still in this position when there’s the unmistakable sound of whispering and footsteps ascending the stairs a short while later and the two men break apart and exchange a smile as they await the tap on the door, Enjolras calling admittance when it comes a second later.

“We made you breakfast!” Julien announces with a beam of pride on his face as he pushes the door open and holds it ceremoniously for his sister to walk into the room carrying a cumbersome tray that looks dangerously unsteady in her frail arms.

“Oh wow, you guys are the best!” Grantaire exclaims as Enjolras leans forward to take the tray out of his daughter’s hands just as they are starting to wobble, resting it on the bed before he pulls her into his arms.

“You really are,” he says as he kisses the top of her head. “This is so kind of you both. And it looks amazing!”

“I did the mixing,” says Julien, breaking free from the hug Grantaire has wrestled him into and jumping up onto the bed.

“We wanted to do something nice for your anniversary,” Melodie says, looking every bit as flustered as she is proud and folding herself into Grantaire’s arms when he holds them out for her. “The biscuits are a bit burnt on the bottom but Jules had one and he said they tasted ok.”

“Oh did he now?” Enjolras’ eyebrows rise with an incriminating smirk at Julien that makes the boy giggle as he helps himself to a slice of apple from the fruit bowl and pops it whole into his mouth.

“Jules! It’s for Papa and Dad, not for you!” Melodie reaches over to bat her brother’s hand away just as he reaches for a cube of melon.

“Hey, it’s fine. Looks like there’s plenty enough to share,” says Grantaire and beckons her to join them, which she does after the briefest moment of deliberation because she’s been desperate to try one of those biscuits since she put them in the oven to bake. “Thank you so much for this, you lovely little treasures. We are so lucky, aren’t we Enj?”

“Huh?” says Enjolras because he’s too busy scooping yoghurt onto a strawberry to have been paying attention to his husband’s words. Julien laughs when Grantaire shakes his head in disbelief and Enjolras pouts innocently on the way to bringing the strawberry to his mouth. “Oh! Yes. We are indeed. Very lucky. Thanks guys. This is awesome and we love you both.”

“And these biscuits are amazing,” says Grantaire with a mouthful of hot crumbly and ever so slightly blackened shortbread.

Julien nods proudly. “They’re very _refined._ ”

Melodie rolls her eyes and a laugh ripples through the family as they settle in for a fine anniversary breakfast together.


	3. Are We There Yet?

_*** In which Melodie is about 8 years old and Julien is a baby. ***_

_8.45 AM:_

As the car backs up slowly out of the driveway, Enjolras at the wheel, Grantaire turns in the seat beside him to look back at his daughter who is playing with the window switch and making the glass lower and raise and lower again.

“Put the window up Mel. I don’t want your brother getting cold.”

She defiantly lowers it one more time before closing it and setting her father with purposeful puppy dog eyes. “But the coffee smells so strong, I think it’s making me drunk.”

Enjolras laughs as he catches his daughter’s eye in the rear-view mirror and winks. “I don’t think you can get drunk on coffee honey!”

“I should hope not considering how much your Papa puts away,” Grantaire says and earns a stony-faced smirk from his husband. “But yeah, it is a strong smell, I know. You can open those mints if you like. That’ll help.”

“Oh, I left them in the kitchen! And my Pony magazine too!”

Enjolras sighs as he slows the car and checks the mirrors before pulling it round in a three-point turn. “Ok, hang on.”

*

_9.05 AM:_

Melodie has spent a significant amount of focused time and energy in arranging the travel essentials beside her; magazine flat against the seat, colouring book and pencil case on top in size order to weigh it down, blanket folded neatly and set furthest out as a barrier against her smaller items falling in the footwell, and new patent purse carrying her spending money, favourite keyring and sweets wedged sideways between her belongings and the car seat carrying her brother. There is nothing else she could ever possibly need and she is feeling very happy and proud as she turns her head to look out of the window and watches the town centre fall away.

“Oh, that was Megan!” she exclaims, bolting up in her seat and glancing back over her shoulder at the blurred view. “Why is she in town today? She said she had to go to a wedding this weekend. She was going to take pictures of her dress for us.”

“Who is Megan?” Enjolras asks.

“My best friend.”

“I thought Freya was your best friend?”

Melodie answers with a scoff. “Urgh, she’s _SO_ out of touch.”

Grantaire swaps a look of mildly amused concern with Enjolras before he turns his head to his daughter in the back seat. “Out of touch?”

“Yeah, she thinks that Gabriel shouldn’t have been allowed to join our dance class because he’s a boy and we’re doing ballet this term and I told her that was unfair and she’s just jealous because he’s a better dancer than her,” she relays emphatically without stopping for breath. “And then I told her that she was a shepherd in the Nativity last Christmas so she was being hippo… hip…”

“Hypocritical,” Grantaire helps.

“Yeah, and then she said I was just trying to be cool so I let Megan sit with me at lunch and then she didn’t speak to me again.”

Enjolras smiles to himself. “That was very nice of you to stick up for Gabriel like that.”

“And not everyone’s as enlightened as you are Mel. Maybe you can help Freya see it a different way,” Grantaire adds.

“Why would Megan lie to me about going to a wedding?”

“Weddings don’t start this early in the day sweetheart,” says Grantaire and reassures her with a smile. “I’m sure she wasn’t lying.”

The girl seems satisfied with this explanation and wriggles back against the seat, getting herself comfortable and resuming her previous job of trying to spot rabbits on the side of the road. Grantaire exchanges a sideways glance with Enjolras who returns a quiet smile before he looks back at the road and drops a gear as they approach the traffic lights.

*

_9.43 AM:_

“Dad, Jules has kicked his blanket onto the floor.”

Grantaire reaches back to pick it up and tuck it back over his son’s legs, engaging the baby in a variety of happy facial expressions as he grabs and wiggles the escaped little foot and makes him giggle.

“Will it be lunch time when we get there?” Melodie asks.

“You can’t be hungry already. You had two bowls of cereal before we left.”

This makes Enjolras laugh. “Mel’s just thinking about seafront chips! Can’t say I blame her either. They are the best.”

Grantaire leans back against the head rest and sighs. “Why do chips at the seaside taste better than chips anywhere else?”

“The brain links up sounds and tastes so the ambience of the crashing waves and salty air triggers our taste buds. Professor Spence. Oxford University,” Enjolras quips and then laughs when he receives a deadpan look of significant disinterest from his husband.

“Must you?”

Enjolras winks at him. “It’s a long journey.”

“Can Jules have chips too?” Melodie asks, pulling out the packet of fruit pastilles from her purse and unpicking the silver paper from the end.

“No, he’s too little honey. And don’t feed him your sweets either,” says Enjolras. “But you can pass the yellow ones that you don’t like forward.”

*

_10.28:_

Grantaire is rifling around in the bag that is sat between his legs, mumbling something under his breath as he is getting increasingly frustrated. Eventually he looks up and exhales a long sigh. “Damn it.”

“What’s up?” Enjolras asks.

“I forgot to pack extra wipes. One pack is barely gonna be enough for Mel’s hands after she’s been eating ice cream, let alone changing Jules.”

Melodie’s ears prick up. “I get ice cream? Can I have hot doughnuts too?”

“No problem, we’ll just stop at a services on the way,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire still looks annoyed with himself so Enjolras reaches one hand across and squeezes his knee affectionately. He recognises the harsh inner critic that’s plaguing Grantaire over his parenting skills because it’s usually himself that’s afflicted with it. And he knows that when Julien didn’t sleep well last night, Grantaire insisted on being the one to be up with him so that Enjolras could be well rested for the long drive today and so is doubtless now sleep deprived himself.

“Will be more expensive,” says Grantaire.

“One pack of wipes is hardly gonna break the bank. Will you stop panicking please? You’re starting to sound like me and there’s only room for one neurotic mess in this marriage.”

Grantaire looks at him and grins. “Stop it.”

“Anyway, it’s Jules’ first trip to the coast. We’re supposed to go home later covered in sea water, sand and whatever sticky atrocities Mel consumes, along with half the beach and bags full of rubbish in the car with us.”

“Did I go to the beach when I was a baby?” Melodie asks and her two fathers exchange a look of mutual understanding because it’s a topic they’ve made sure they are well prepared for.

Grantaire looks around to hold her inquisitive stare and smiles. “Remember honey, your Papa and I were still waiting for you when you were a baby. It took a little while for you to get to us, remember how we talked about that? But we took you to the beach for your fourth birthday.” He grabs his mobile phone out of his pocket and scrolls through the photo album until he finds the right picture to select and holds it out for her to view. “See? That’s you in front of the fun house with the big purple bear Papa won for you.”

“Is that where Mr Fluffles came from? That’s why he always smelled of candy floss,” Melodie says and looks proud of herself for coming to that conclusion. “Can we go in the fun house again today?”

“Of course we can.”

“Can Jules go in it too or is he too small?”

“He’s too small honey.”

Melodie is silent for a moment. “Can we bring Jules back for his fourth birthday?”

Grantaire catches the emotion in Enjolras’ eyes when he locks onto them for a brief moment before he turns back to Melodie and smiles warmly. “Definitely.”

*

_10.52 AM:_

They have pulled off the motorway into a service station and Enjolras has taken the chance to get Julien out of his seat for a nappy change and cuddle while Grantaire is hunting for wipes in the shop, joined by Melodie who insists she needs to use the toilet but conveniently forgets once she lays eyes on the confectionary stand. When they return to the car, Enjolras is stood by the open door with the baby cuddled against his chest, rocking him soothingly.

“Do they have any facilities we could use to warm a bottle in there? I think he’s going to need a feed soon,” he says as Grantaire deposits the bag of purchases to the boot of the car in the only available space between the folded pushchair and various essential beach supplies, including Melodie’s rainbow plastic bucket that she intends to fill with shells.

“I don’t know but doesn’t look the cleanest. We’re only about twenty minutes away now aren’t we? Sure he’ll be OK until then.”

Enjolras doesn’t look convinced but when he leans back into the car to strap Julien into his car seat, the little boy gurgles contentedly as he becomes distracted by the polka-dot elephant dangling from the frame.

“Come on Papa, hurry up, I wanna get to the rides!” Melodie calls from where she has already climbed back in beside her brother and strapped herself into position.

*

_11.16 AM:_

“Whales,” says Melodie and Enjolras laughs.

“You can’t see whales from here!”

“No, but there must be some close now.”

“Quite possibly but you still can’t see them so that wouldn’t count.”

Grantaire shakes his head and laughs. “By that logic, I’m guessing it’s not water or waves or anything like that either then?”

Enjolras pulls a face at his husband. “No need to be bitter just because you’re terrible at this game. Anyway, I _CAN_ see water but no, it’s not that.”

Melodie gasps and sits upright in her seat, craning her neck as far upwards as it will possibly go. “ _WHERE?_ I can’t see it.”

“Look over there at that line of rooftops. You see them?” Grantaire says and points to the windscreen. “That bluey white line that looks like it’s hovering over them is the sea in the distance.”

“Oh, is the word white?” Melodie guesses.

“White clouds?” Grantaire adds.

Enjolras laughs. “It’s not white anything! Keep guessing.”

The car falls into silence for a few moments apart from the quiet hum of the engine and the odd interjection of baby babble from Julien. The road twists and turns a lot on the approach to the coastal town and as they take the incline of a particularly hilly part of the road, Melodie suddenly squeals when the car draws to the peak and the horizon and all its treasures come into view.

“WHEEL! It’s wheel!” she exclaims proudly.

“Well done Mel. You win again,” Enjolras announces as beside him, Grantaire huffs indignantly.

“You couldn’t see that until a few seconds ago!”

“Yeah, but I knew I would by the time one of you guessed it,” says Enjolras with a sideways wink at his husband that earns him a groan and a roll of the eyes.

“Such a cheat,” says Grantaire. “Anyway, technically it would be ferris wheel or big wheel or-“

“Oh Dad, you’re _SUCH_ a sore loser,” Melodie grumbles and Grantaire looks over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at her and make her laugh, inadvertently making his son giggle at the same time.

“I’d like it noted that those words came from Melodie and not me,” Enjolras says with a grin.

“Can we have ice cream now?” Melodie asks.

*


End file.
